


this too shall pass

by Arrowsbane



Series: these aren't scars, these are stories [2]
Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 09:12:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8527420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arrowsbane/pseuds/Arrowsbane
Summary: Thoughts on the darker emotions we have to handle, and the truth behind them.





	

_ɡriːf/_ noun. ‘an instance or cause of intense sorrow.’

 

Grief is not the ending; it is the beginning.

Grief is when your heart accepts that you have to let something go, but isn’t willing to say goodbye.

Grief is a name for our inner child, who is raging at the unfairness of the world.

Life is not fair. We know this, and yet we fight it anyway.

…

Grief is not how we say goodbye; it is how we say ‘I won’t let go.’ It is not the destruction or aftermath; it is the eye of the storm, the hurricane within, and the sirens are screaming.

Grief burns, sneaks up on us when we aren’t expecting it. We think we’re ready, lying awake at two am wondering what we’re waiting for, and then the phone rings and the world shatters.

It’s what happens while we’re frantically trying to hold together, choking our tears back, our screams down. We stifle our voices, smile at the world and carry on. And if our smiles are a little bit cracked, our eyes watery, what does it matter? There is work to be done and places we have to go, until we’ve finished the list and sag down onto the couch; empty and tired, and just all-to-ready to crawl into a bottle.

 _This isn’t happening,_ we say to ourselves in disbelief. _I’m going to wake up, and it’ll be a bad dream, this day never happened._ But we don’t wake up. The sun rises, and the sun sets, and we’re still living in this nightmare that is reality.

Eventually, time will heal us. Eventually, our smiles will be real. Eventually we’ll have that spring back in our steps, and the world will feel just that little bit brighter.

But right now? Right now I am screaming. _Don’t leave me._

…

How do you handle your grief? Poetry is something that works for me:

_“Spring dawned across the horizon,_

_Bringing whispers of butterflies and the promise of summer._

_Roses began to bud anew, but all I saw was her smile._

_This is a woman whose soul was smudged with paint,_

_Her hands dusted with chalk and a stubbornness that I learnt to admire;_

_So many things I want to describe, there is chaos where an image should be.”_

 

Are the first two stanzas that come to mind, and then I stop.

I breathe in shakily, my throat closing up on itself.

And then I stop. I close the page, and I hold a pillow close.

 _I’m not going to cry,_ I tell myself. But I do.

…

Grief is not the ending; it is the beginning.

Grief is when your heart accepts that you have to let something go, but isn’t willing to say goodbye.

This is really happening. It’s going to hurt. It already does.

It’s going to get worse before it gets better.

But I am loved, I know this. I am not alone.

I am grieving.

And this too, shall pass.


End file.
